The Sheikh's Unwilling Wife. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ up here today. And if she walked into the pub looking like a shivering wreck, then his suspicions would only be alerted.

      Changing out of her working clothes, she pulled on jeans, sweater and jacket, and stared back at her image, knowing that she was dressed in a way which was practical and smart rather than feminine. But appearances mattered—particularly to a man like her husband. He would judge her by what she was wearing and she would not, not be found wanting. So she brushed her hair and added a touch of lipstick, and rubbed her finger against her cheeks in an attempt to put some colour there.

      At least the crisp breeze which blew in from the sea took her breath away and made her feel properly alive—even if her heart felt dead. She walked along to the harbour, where little boats bobbed in the water with their masts chattering and where seagulls cawed in their relentless search for food.

      On such a cold evening there were few people hanging around, and it seemed so desolated and so very English that for a moment Alexa could scarcely believe that her estranged husband was sitting waiting for her—here, in this little town. Her territory, she thought. Not his.

      The pub sign creaked, and Alexa hugged her coat tightly to her as she dipped her head to walk into the warm, beamed interior and look around for Giovanni.

      He wasn’t hard to find. The pub was fairly quiet, with just a few office workers having a quiet pint before setting off home for the familiar evening routine, and Giovanni looked overwhelmingly exotic in comparison.

      On a table in front of him stood two glasses of red wine, and his long, muscular legs were stretched out in front of him—pulling the material tight over his groin and unashamedly accentuating his masculinity.

      Alexa thought how deeply olive his skin looked beneath the soft lighting—yet it gave off a soft golden radiance which contrasted with his thick hair, as black as the coal which lay waiting to be thrown onto the roaring fire.

      And suddenly she felt a terrible yearning—like someone standing in an icy waste who had just sighted a thick cashmere blanket. For how long was it since she had looked on a man and felt anything approaching desire?

      Not since Italy.

      And she had never desired anyone the way she had Giovanni—how could she? Who could possibly follow a role model like him?

      Well, she wasn’t going to think of that now. Keep focussed. Find out why he’s here and keep it simple. Pinning a smile to her lips, she began to walk towards him.

      Giovanni’s eyes narrowed as he saw her, and again that alien and unexpected feeling wrenched at him. How pale her face looked, he thought with a frown. And how did she always manage to project that image of being all alone in the world—so that a man wanted to reach out and safeguard her? His frown deepened. Because that was the game she played—one that all clever and beautiful women engaged in. His own mother had excelled at it. Alexa was simply capitalising on her assets—emphasising her strange fragility and her pale, doe-like beauty.

      Forcing himself to concentrate instead on the darkened bow of her mouth, the sway of her hips, and the thought of her breasts hidden beneath the bulky jacket, he was rewarded with a familiar leap in his groin. He rose to his feet as she approached, because his manners were always impeccable, even if the dark light flashing from his eyes was anything but conventionally polite.

      ‘Here I am,’ she said flatly.

      ‘So I see.’

      They stared at one another like two new boxers in the ring, who were trying to psych the other one out.

      He would never have allowed her to go out wearing such a bulky, waterproof jacket as the one which now sparkled beneath fine droplets of seawater, he thought. Yet the dilemma with someone who looked like Alexa was that on the one hand you wanted her to display that magnificent body of hers—while on the other you did not want other men seeing it. But they were separated now, and none of the normal rules counted. How she dressed was nothing to do with him, for he was interested only in seeing her without any clothes on at all.

      His eyes flickered over her, to where her glorious hair tumbled down in windswept strands over her breasts. ‘At least you’ve let your hair down,’ he observed softly.

      ‘Giovanni, we aren’t here to…’

      ‘To what, cara?’ he questioned innocently.

      ‘To—to make personal remarks like that.’ To make her feel like a real woman for the first time in years and remind her of his consummate skill as a lover. And wasn’t she in danger of regarding even that through rose-tinted spectacles? She must force herself to remember the reality of their wedding night and its bitter conclusion. ‘It isn’t appropriate,’ she finished.

      Giovanni heard the slightly despairing note of appeal in her voice and bit back his smile. This was good. What was it that the English said? He was getting under her skin. Just as she had once got under his, playing disingenuous games in order to hook him, as women had been attempting to do since he’d first started shaving.

      ‘Sit down,’he said, his eyes narrowing at her look of genuine hesitation.

      ‘I don’t know if I should.’

      His mouth curved into a mocking line. Did she really imagine that he would let her walk away from him a second time?

      ‘I said, sit down,’ he repeated silkily.

      Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure she could walk straight out again—even if he’d told her she could. The feelings which had surged over her since he’d entered the shop suddenly took their toll, and with legs which were suddenly weak Alexa sank down onto one of the overstuffed leather sofas, glancing around her as nervously as if she was a woman on a blind date.

      Sometimes when she was out she felt self-conscious, or paranoid as if people were staring at her. But today they really were. And it was nothing to do with a winds-wept woman on her way home from work—but everything to do with the exotic man who had just sat down opposite her. He was lounging back in his chair like a dangerous, undiscovered species who needed a warning notice attached to him.

      He pushed a glass of wine towards her. ‘You look as if you could use it.’

      Alexa took the drink but didn’t touch it. Just looked straight into his eyes and willed herself not to respond to all those potent signals he was sending out. But most potent of all was the heartbreaking similarity between him and Paolo. The same thick forest of black lashes, and the slash of high, slanting cheekbones. The same dark curls—though Paolo’s were more of an ebony tumble and Giovanni’s had been expertly clipped to lovingly define the proud shape of his head. She shook the thoughts away.

      ‘How did you find me?’ she questioned, curling her fingers around the glass, as if doing that would warm their frozen stiffness.

      ‘Oh, finding you was simple, cara—far easier than I expected.’He shrugged. He had been surprised she was still here—but then, didn’t women always go back to somewhere they’d known? She had lived here before she had come out to Italy. Before her mother had moved off to live in the wilds of Canada, and before he had foolishly decided that Alexa needed looking after and had married her.

      His mouth hardened. ‘I tried your old phone number and got your voice on the answer-machine.’

      ‘And if you hadn’t?’

      He СКАЧАТЬ